


Nobody has to Know

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: “I don’t think we should tell them,” Emily says.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 28
Kudos: 161





	Nobody has to Know

“I don’t think we should tell them,” Emily says. She climbs onto the bed and lays down directly on top of Lindsey, wedging herself into Lindsey’s side, tangling their legs together.

“I don’t think they’re ready yet,” Emily continues.

“Enjoying my armpit?” Lindsey asks, maneuvering her arm to get it behind Emily’s shoulders.

“What do you think?” Emily asks, lifting her head so she can rest her chin against Lindsey’s shoulder. Lindsey reaches out and brushes some of Emily’s hair out of her face. Emily grins at her until their smiles grow soft and goofy, and then Emily leans in to kiss her.

When she pulls back again, Lindsey sighs and drops her head back against her pillow.

“You’re probably right,” she says, “but I don’t want you to feel like I want to hide you.”

“I know you don’t want to,” Emily says, “you wanna tell everyone your girlfriend is a famous athlete, I get it.”

“Shut up,” Lindsey laughs, digging her elbow into Emily’s ribs, and Emily makes a noise of protest and burrows deeper into Lindsey’s side, pressing her face into Lindsey’s neck.

“It’s not forever,” Lindsey says, “we just have to get through the Victory Tour and then we can tell them in the offseason.”

“Yeah,” Emily says, “okay, that sounds fine. How are we telling them?”

How _do_ you tell your friends and teammates that you’re dating a friend and teammate? It’s not something Lindsey thought about when she was getting herself into this position. She wasn’t thinking about much other than whether Emily liked her back, and now that that’s all figured out, she’s a little disappointed to realize that’s only the beginning of things she has to deal with.

“I don’t know,” she says, curling her arm around Emily’s waist, “that’s a problem for tomorrow Lindsey.”

“And what’s today Lindsey thinking about instead?” Emily asks, her lips just brushing against Lindsey’s neck when she does.

Lindsey’s smile starts slowly and grows until it hurts her cheeks.

“Lemme show you,” she says.

-

Lindsey never got to be a teenager the way her friends did. 

She never got to sneak out of her house to go to a party she wasn’t allowed to go to. She never got grounded for staying out too late. She never got the adrenaline rush of just narrowly avoiding getting in trouble for something she wasn’t supposed to be doing, she never had a crush she was trying to hide from in the hallway, she never even went to prom. Dating Emily feels like getting to go back and relive all of the things that she missed.

At a team dinner, under the table, Emily places her hand on Lindsey’s knee. Lindsey gets butterflies immediately, but Becky’s talking to her, so she has to focus. It’s almost impossible to keep her face neutral, and when she glances at Emily she sees that Emily’s expression is betraying nothing. 

Anyone could look under the table and see Emily’s thumb stroking across the outside of Lindsey’s knee. Nobody does, but the fact that it _could_ have happened has Lindsey’s heart-rate elevated for five full minutes after Emily takes her hand back, and she knows that Emily has to know it.

Later, at practice, Emily dribbles up behind her while Lindsey is drinking and tries to nutmeg her. Lindsey snaps her legs shut and wheels around, throwing an arm around Emily’s body as if she’s going to toss her to the ground. They wrestle briefly before Lindsey pulls away and squirts the water bottle in Emily’s face, and then they devolve into laughter. It’s actually pretty normal for them, nothing for anyone to suspect at all, until Emily wipes the water off her face and they stand there grinning at each other.

Lindsey wants to kiss her so badly. Emily’s eyes drop to her mouth, just for a second, and she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Get a room,” Tobin yells from across the pitch, and Lindsey’s stomach drops. It’s a dumb thing, a little thing, Tobin probably doesn’t even think they’re really doing anything, she definitely can just tell that Lindsey wants to, but still--it has that edge, the feeling of almost getting caught, the same feeling she got when Emily’s hand was on her knee under the table.

“Don’t be jealous, grandma,” Emily calls back, turning away from Lindsey to boot the ball directly at Tobin’s midsection. She misses and almost hits Sam, who settles the ball and shakes her head at them. They go back to their drills, and Lindsey tries not to think about the way her body felt in that moment where she thought they’d been found out, or how much she liked the idea.

-

After the game in Minnesota, Lindsey gets sloppy. It’s because she scored, because everything feels so good for the first time in so long, even better than it felt to win the World Cup in France with Sonny and all her friends. It feels better, somehow, to score a goal in a meaningless friendly in a city she doesn’t really care about. Maybe not better--just different. Like maybe she doesn’t have to prove anything at all.

On the way back to the bus from the locker room after the game, Emily falls into step beside her. She’s already congratulated Lindsey on her goal, but she bumps Lindsey’s shoulder anyway.

“Hey,” she says, “that goal was really sick, seriously.”

“You have to say that,” Lindsey says, even though it’s not true and she knows that Emily means it. She likes the way that Emily’s brow furrows and the way that Emily works so hard to convince her.

“I do not,” Emily says, “it was a beautiful goal, watch the replay.”

“Thank you,” Lindsey says. The backs of their hands brush. Lindsey knows that Sam is behind them, but the last time she saw Sam out of the corner of her eye she was texting, and anyway it’s just Sam, and it’s not like her and Emily have never held hands before. They held hands plenty before they even started dating. She knows because she used to think about it all the time, the way Emily’s hand fit into hers and how her heart would start to race every time.

So she grabs Emily’s hand, and Emily threads their fingers together and smiles at her, and Lindsey lets the feeling in her chest grow until her whole body is warm.

-

It’s another month before the national team even gets back together. A month of practically living in Emily’s apartment and waking up to her almost every day. 

The weirdest part is how little everything has changed. It’s not like they spend more time together now than they used to. Maybe they spend more time alone together now, but that’s just because nobody knows that they’re more than friends yet, and Lindsey just wants to touch Emily all the time. She did before, too, but she contained it, and now she doesn’t have to because she knows Emily wants to touch her, too.

It’s not even the obvious thing. It's the little things like waking up and kissing Emily’s hand, her wrist, all the way up her arm until Emily wakes up, too. Wrapping her arms around Emily’s waist to hug her from behind while she tries to cook their eggs without breaking the yolks. Watching soccer while Emily tries and fails to braid her hair.

“You’re really bad at this,” Lindsey observes.

“Emma monopolized our Barbies,” Emily says. She yanks a strand of hair too hard and Lindsey yelps theatrically. 

“Oh, relax,” Emily laughs, but she drops a kiss to Lindsey’s shoulder anyway.

“Like you would have played with Barbie dolls anyway,” Lindsey says.

“I liked the brunette one,” Emily says.

“I bet you did,” Lindsey replies, and Emily puts both hands in Lindsey’s hair and shakes until she’s left with a tangled mane.

“Should we tell any of the Thorns girls?” Lindsey blurts when they’re done laughing, and Emily’s smile falls.

“Um,” she says, “I don’t know--I...maybe we should wait until after the season’s over?”

Lindsey’s not sure why the answer would have been any different than it was with the national team, so she shouldn’t be disappointed. And she knows it’s not like Emily wants to hide her. Emily’s said so herself. They both have.

“That makes sense,” she says. And it does make sense. The last thing they need, leading into playoffs, is to make things weird for everyone or to draw attention to themselves. 

“But,” Emily prompts her, and Lindsey sighs, pulling her hair back into a bun.

“No buts,” Lindsey says, “it makes sense.”

-

Two days before they leave for camp again, they go to an animal shelter.

“We’re not getting a dog,” Lindsey says, “I just want to foster a puppy in the offseason.”

“Yep,” Emily says, popping the ‘p’. She has her hand on Lindsey’s thigh as Lindsey drives, and it startles Lindsey how familiar that feels, as if they’ve been doing it their whole lives.

“Seriously,” Lindsey says, “we are not leaving with a puppy. We have nobody to watch a puppy while we’re with the national teams. And one of us would have to take it home during holidays.”

“Seriously,” Emily says, “I know, babe.”

It’s the first time she’s used that term of endearment with Lindsey. Actually, it might be the first time _anyone_ has called Lindsey ‘babe’, and she can feel herself turning bright red over it. Emily squeezes her leg just above her knee, and Lindsey smiles until her face hurts. It’s becoming more and more common lately. She can’t say she hates it.

-

They leave with a puppy.

“We’re just fostering,” Lindsey reminds Emily,’ but Emily is barely listening to her, sticking her fingers in the puppy’s mouth so he can chew on them. He’s a little bundle of curly fur and Emily hasn’t looked away from him since the moment they stepped into the shelter. The idea of separating the two of them makes Lindsey feel like Cruella de Vil.

“Stop it,” Lindsey says, “you need those.”

“I think we should keep his name,” Emily says. “Krypto.”

“Well, we can’t change his name,” Lindsey says, “because we’re just fostering him. So--”

“He needs an Instagram,” Emily decides, and Lindsey sighs, but the smile still hasn’t left her face.

-

They lose the semifinal. It feels like shit. _Lindsey_ feels like shit, feels useless, until she comes home--because Emily’s apartment is home now--and showers and falls asleep in their bed, with their dog curled up between them, knowing that they’ll get another shot. And next time, she knows, she’ll make it count.

-

In Columbus, things start to get weird.

“So,” Mal says, “like, whose puppy is it?”

“Nobody’s,” Lindsey says, “he’s a foster puppy. Do you want him?”

“He’s ours,” Emily says.

“Who is ‘ours’,” Mal asks, and Lindsey kicks Emily under the table.

“Like, the Thorns? Is he a Thorns puppy?” Rose asks, “why do the Thorns get a puppy?”

“It’s not that serious,” Lindsey insists, “Emily and I just got bored and went to an animal shelter.”

“Who does he stay with?” Mal asks, and Emily blinks.

“Me,” Emily says, “he’s my dog.”

“You kept saying ‘ours,’” Rose reminds her, “I’m confused.”

“Anyway,” Mal says, “Sonny, when you’re back in Atlanta, you should meet this girl that Dansby knows from high school. They’re buddies. And she’s hot.”

Emily goes very quiet. Lindsey focuses on her salad, stabbing the lettuce maybe more aggressively than necessary. Rose is ignoring them, scrolling on her phone, presumably through pictures of Wilma.

“I’m good,” Emily says nonchalantly, picking at her sandwich.

“You’re good?” Rose screeches, and Emily shushes her. Lindsey is trying to get a good look at Emily’s face without really looking at her, because she’s afraid if she does everything will become suddenly obvious. She’s also trying not to imagine Emily hitting on some random girl in Atlanta, but it’s hard not to. Emily’s so good at flirting. She does it in public sometimes now, when they’re home in Portland alone together. Reaching over Lindsey for a stirrer at the coffee shop, making sure their arms brush. Resting her cheek in her hand and making those eyes at Lindsey while Lindsey talks to her about something, anything, whatever.

“I’m good,” Emily repeats, “but thank you for thinking of me.”

“You’ve been bitching about needing to get laid for months,” Rose says, “you are not _good_.”

Lindsey stops pretending not to stare at Emily. She makes a face that she hopes is funny, but she’s trying to imagine what exactly Emily had been saying to Rose and wondering why she didn’t know that Emily was complaining about needing to get laid. She badly wants to make a joke about that not being an issue anymore, but--

“Rosie,” Emily says sweetly, “I got it handled, buddy, but I appreciate you.”

“Too bad,” Mal says, “I told her you’d meet her when you’re home for the holidays. She’s a big fan. You can take her to Waffle House, she’s not a vegan like the last girl you--”

“You guys wanna see pictures of Emily’s dog?” Lindsey blurts, and somehow, thank God, it works.

-

Lindsey is hurt for the last game of the season.

She doesn’t feel hurt. She feels like she could play at least twenty minutes. She feels like she wishes she hadn’t said anything about her hamstring. She feels like she’s nervous about going back to Denver with a puppy while Emily goes to Atlanta without her, and she feels stupid for being nervous about it when she knows that Mal only tried to set Emily up because they haven’t told anyone they’re dating.

But more than anything else she feels proud.

Emily’s played every single minute of the last couple of games, and she’s played so well. It’s even more obvious to Lindsey from the press box. Every time Emily touches the ball she can feel her chest swell with pride.

That’s her _girlfriend_.

-

“I don’t know when Rose is coming back,” Emily warns her, when Lindsey steps into her room.

“Not soon,” Lindsey says, but she doesn’t know who she’s fooling. They probably don’t have a lot of time alone together, but she knows that they’ll be apart for a long time after this and she’s gotten so used to the way that Emily seeps into every part of her life that it terrifies her to think about going without. She wraps both arms around Emily’s waist and squeezes her hard, then picks her up off of the ground just far enough that she can swing her.

“Linds,” Emily laughs, “you’re gonna break all my ribs.”

When Lindsey puts her down, it’s only so that she can grab Emily’s face in her hands and kiss her. Kissing Emily is magic--it’s not like anything else. It makes her lose track of everything. She forgets about her hamstring, about the NWSL semis, about the long offseason. She forgets about everything that’s not Emily’s mouth moving against hers and Emily’s hands fisted into her shirt at the sides.

Before she knows it they’ve moved to a bed, presumably Emily’s bed, with Emily leaning over her and pushing a hand under her shirt. She’s not thinking at all, and definitely not thinking about Rose, when the door slams open.

“You will not believe,” Rose starts, and then she stops immediately, standing there with her mouth and the door open, holding her phone in her hands.

“Rose,” Emily hisses, “close the _door_.”

“Oh my God,” Rose says.

Emily scrambles off of the bed and shuts the door, crowding Rose into the room. Lindsey throws her arm over her eyes and says nothing, still feeling the press of Emily’s lips to hers, fighting off the rising hysteria of being walked in on.

“Oh my God,” Rose starts laughing, “you have it ‘handled,’ huh? Is this--that’s handled?”

“Shut up,” Emily says, and Lindsey starts to laugh, too.

“Not you too,” Emily says, turning on her, “traitor, whose side are you on?”

“It’s funny,” Lindsey wheezes.

“You guys are fucking,” Rose says, “this is incredible. This explains so much.”

“We’re not fucking,” Emily says, “don’t be gross.”

“So you’ve never fucked,” Rose says, and Lindsey can feel tears start to prick at the corners of her eyes when she rolls over and presses her face into the pillow, trying to stop laughing long enough to help Emily out.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Emily says, “I’m her girlfriend. We’re not _just_ fucking. And it’s not _my_ dog, it’s our dog, because we’re dating. Will you please leave? And knock next time?”

“You are not going to have sex in this room,” Rose says, “no, thank you. You can go to Lindsey’s room, I don’t need this room to be defiled.”

“You’ve been on our couch,” Lindsey manages when she lifts her head, and now it’s Emily’s turn to laugh at the expression on Rose’s face.

“I’m leaving,” Rose announces, “I will be back in one--in two hours. Do not touch my bed or anything on this side of the room and be completely clothed or gone when I get back at...one am.”

“Or what?” Emily asks, “you’re gonna beat me up? Lindsey is six feet tall.”

“I am not,” Lindsey says, “and I’m not gonna beat her up.”

Rose just glares at them before she leaves the room. When she does, and the door closes behind her, Emily turns around to give Lindsey a pained look, and Lindsey goes soft immediately.

“Babe,” she says, and realizes the moment it’s out of her mouth that she’s never said it before, “come here.”

Emily crawls back onto the bed and rests her head against Lindsey’s chest. Lindsey tugs Emily’s hair tie out of her hair and runs her fingers through Emily’s hair, scraping her nails against Emily’s scalp the way she likes, the way that usually puts her to sleep.

“It’s okay,” Lindsey says.

“It’s not,” Emily says, “everyone definitely knows by now.”

“So?” Lindsey asks, “is that so bad? It’s the offseason. This is about when we were going to tell people anyway. It’s just less work because Rose is doing it for us.”

Emily is quiet for long enough that Lindsey thinks she’s fallen asleep. She cranes her neck to try to see Emily’s face, and Emily lifts her head, leaning her cheek onto one hand and bracing her arm on her elbow.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Emily says softly, and Lindsey’s heart rate picks up.

“What do you mean?” she asks. Emily’s eyes wander across her face.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” Emily says, “I wanted it to be...normal. I don’t know. I wanted to get to tell everyone you...were my girlfriend. And instead now there’s probably some Snapchat group or some group FaceTime about it and it’s all about how we were making out, instead of...how much I like you.”

Lindsey breaks into a smile and Emily blushes, looking away. She wants to diffuse the tension and back off, but Lindsey knows her better than that. She grabs Emily’s face in her hands and drags her in so she can kiss Emily’s cheek firmly. They’ve practically been living together for months and it still makes her chest tight when she thinks about this thing with them, this thing that she’s so sure is _the_ thing.

“I’m glad you like me,” Lindsey says, “because I definitely love you.”

-

**Rose**: You guys.  
**Rose**: i just walked in on lindsey and emily MAKING OUT  
**Rose L**: INNNN MY ROOOOOOM  
**Meow Pugh**: WHATTTTTT  
**Meow Pugh**: like as a joke ????  
**Rose L**: wtf  
**Rose L**: are you dumb  
**Meow Pugh**: :(  
**Sammy**: oh my gosh  
**Sammy**: that is awkward I kept worrying about that  
**Rose L**: you KNEW?  
**Meow Pugh**: are they DATING??????  
**Sammy**: um yeah I was just trying to be polite bcause they hadn’t like actually said so  
**Sammy**: but idk it seemed pretty obvious to me  
** Rose L**: I cannot believe this  
**Rose L**: need some time to recover from this betrayal  
**Meow Pugh**: omg okay thats kind of cute though  
**Meow Pugh**: like i can see it  
**Rose L**: no you literally cannot it was very gross  
**Rose L**: in MY ROOM  
**Sammy**: Lol  
**Sammy**: I’ve walked in on Kristie so many times  
**Meow Pugh**: ok that is gross  
**Rose L**: we have to prank them  
**Rose L**: actually I have an idea  
**Sammy**: did you leave them in there?  
**Meow Pugh**: are they having sex like RIGHT NOW?  
**Meow Pugh**: like AS WE SPEAK/TYPE?  
**Sammy**: Rose?  
**Meow Pugh**: oh no  
**Sammy**: Oh no

-

Emily has fallen asleep with her face mashed into Lindsey’s shoulder when Lindsey hears the sound at the door and stiffens, curling her arm protectively around Emily’s waist.

“Oh no,” she mumbles.


End file.
